Joan's Journal
by March Haere
Summary: A diary entry from Joan from Anne Tyler's "The Tin Can Tree." It's a good book. This was an assignment for one of my classes. My teacher liked it; do you? :)


Author's Note: This was a writing assignment for one of my classes. We were supposed to take chapter four of "The Tin Can Tree" (which was a pretty good book, I think) and write it as a diary entry from Joan's point of view. It was the only creative writing assignment I'll get all year. . .the rest will be icky icky essays. T_T  
  
Disclaimer: "The Tin Can Tree" and all characters and situations belong to Anne Tyler. This was simply looking at a chapter from another point of view. So no suing.   
  
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Joan's Journal  
  
  
Today I gave Simon a new haircut. I was originally planning on taking him to the barber's, but he didn't want to go downtown. I can't blame him of course; it's hard for me too. It's difficult enough to have people whispering about it to me, I can't imagine what it would be like for people to talk over my head about something like this. I was actually relieved when he said he wanted to stay home. It was probably better for both of us that way. His haircut looks kind of funny, but it's not too horrible. It certainly looks better than the shaggy curls he had before. It reminds me vaguely of a haystack, golden and sticking out in all directions in a neat little pile. Actually, I kind of feel the way it looks. . .unsure is the word, I suppose. Unsure of what it's supposed to seem like. I'm trying my best to help Aunt Lou and Uncle Roy, and Simon the most, but I can't seem to pull Aunt Lou out of her stupor. I suppose she just has to heal on her own. . .I wish there was something more I could do.   
While I was cutting his hair, Ansel came over, asking about Aunt Lou and Uncle Roy. He disagreed with Simon's haircut. I'm sure he couldn't do better; all he does is lie around and complain all day. I've never liked him. He talks much too much for someone who never says anything. It's his fault that James isn't considering our future: no marriage, no children, no growing old together. It's all that babbling idiot's fault.   
A bit after Ansel came over, Aunt Lou came out of bed and downstairs. I was relieved to see her, although she looked positively horrible. She looked so small and sad, so fragile, bunched up in her gray robe. It overwhelmed her like a shadowy cloud. I tried to have her eat something, but she refused to do anything but sit and stare. She seemed almost catatonic, like a puppet awaiting the pulling of her strings. Ansel didn't make matters much easier. He said he knows how Aunt Lou feels. He has no idea. Sure, his mother died, and I'm sorry, but he's not compassionate enough to feel what she feels. He had the nerve to compare himself to poor Aunt Lou. The blithering fool talked about guilt; Aunt Lou has no reason to feel guilty. None of us do. "People have their faults, and when they're dead you mourn them," he said. Couldn't he see how upset she was already? He was so blasé when he spoke. "Oh, of course, your only daughter died and you're just sad you didn't treat her better." Little Janie Rose was as sweet as they come. I agree with Aunt Lou; she didn't have any faults. Then he rambled on some story about his mother and goats, as if that would explain anything.  
Thankfully, James stopped by before Ansel could do any more damage to the situation. Of course, the moment his brother showed up, Ansel had more and more of his symptoms to complain about. I may have felt sorry for him if he actually spent as much time sick as time he spends complaining. I swear, it's amazing that James actually listens to all of it. Perhaps he just acts as if he is; I'm sure he's used to it and maybe he's just pretending to listen in order to get him quiet. I will never completely understand how James's mind works. I'm sure that's why I'll never hear him speak of marriage or anything of the sort. Knowing that, it saddens me to see him.  
But that isn't what's important right now. What's important is Aunt Lou and getting her better. Thankfully, Ansel is gone now, but all Aunt Lou does is stare blankly at the mottled kitchen wall. Her eyes are flat and devoid of anything even resembling emotion; they're fogged over as if she's somewhere far away.  
I hope she'll at least try to eat something for supper tonight. 


End file.
